


Queer Trek (Or the Art of Oral Sex)

by merkuria



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merkuria/pseuds/merkuria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy wishes to perfect the art of oral sex. Sulu and Chekov come to the rescue, and they bring props. Based on/re-write of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3nujWbHvJxE"> THIS SCENE FROM QUEER AS FOLK</a>. Absolutely no knowledge of Queer as Folk needed to enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queer Trek (Or the Art of Oral Sex)

It was true that when he first approached Sulu and Chekov, he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, but it wasn’t until he saw them open the bag and proceed to take out dick, after dick, after goddamned dick, lining them neatly on the table in his quarters, that Leonard McCoy appreciated just how very fucked he was.

***

“You’ve brought me a bag of dicks.”

“Oh, but they’re not dicks,” Chekov protested, “they’re dildos.” And continued to arrange the dicks – they most certainly were _dicks,_ thank you very much – by size _and_ by colour. McCoy felt such attention to detail complemented nicely the sense of unreality that was overtaking him, fast.

“Well, what else were we supposed to do? You didn’t think we would use an actual... you didn’t think we’d use a real one? I mean, we probably could...” Sulu trailed off, looking at him with ill-concealed merriment.

“No, no, no. Goddamn it, no. I...” McCoy stopped, as a big purple dick toppled over and fell down to the floor with a wet splat.

“It’s a self-lubricating one. Reacting to contact,” Sulu explained, reaching down to pick it up, unfazed. “Great stuff, really, but perhaps not the best choice for what we’re about to do here. We wouldn’t want you to choke.”

“Choke? No. Yes. No!” There was a trace of something dangerously close to hysteria in his voice, and suddenly McCoy felt this was not a standing up situation. He pulled out the chair and sat down at the table, next to Chekov, Sulu, and the dozen or so of ... yeah, those.

“Did you know, doctor, that blowjobs were invented in Russia?” Of course. Of course they were.

“Let’s get started then, yeah?” Sulu said, and McCoy nodded wordlessly.

“So, which would you say most resembles Captain Kirk?”

***

It all started about a month ago when Jim invited him to dinner, a casual _Would you like to have dinner with me, Bones?_ dropped over coffee in the recreation room, _In my quarters, sometime next week, if that’s all right with you,_ all spoken with thatbrilliant smile of his _._ And sure he would, they regularly had dinners together, and why was Jim even asking him so formally in the first place, and why on earth were they suddenly going to eat in his quarters, they never did before and Jim was looking at him strangely, and...oh _. Oh_. A dinner. In Jim’s quarters. A _dinner_.

He would. He very much would.

***

Which led him to where he was now, looking into the earnest face of Ensign Chekov, all regulation uniform and bouncing curls, and a decent-sized pink dick in his right hand. Smiling. Chekov, not the dick, because that would have been plain disturbing.

“Let us relax the jaw, rotating first clockwise,” Chekov started, opening his mouth wide and demonstrating, “and counter-clockwise. Good. Now wag the tongue.” He wagged the tongue, making a sort of _lhalala_ sound _,_ and so did Sulu, and God help him, so did McCoy.

“Next, grasp the shaft firmly with our right hand, left if we’re southpaw, creating a velvet vise.” Sulu continued the instruction, taking one of the dicks – a blue one, as it happened – firmly in his right hand. McCoy noticed that he had very nice hands, big and capable-looking, and apparently so did Chekov, because he let out a soft sigh, and McCoy turned to see him gazing hungrily at Sulu’s grip, mouth parted.

Well, that certainly was interesting. Or horribly embarrassing. Probably both.

“Yes. Once you’re satisfied with the grip, you cover your teeth” – both Chekov and Sulu covered their teeth, which was not something McCoy ever expected to see, _ever_ , “... allowing for a smooth and unobstructed entry.” Sulu continued while Chekov lowered his head, going down on the dick he was holding with practiced ease.

And frankly, the depth Chekov went to was alarming. And impressive. Definitely, definitely impressive. How did he manage to...

He was broken out of his reverie by Sulu. “Your turn now.” McCoy eyed the assortment of dicks before him – small and big, thin and thick, smooth and veiny, fluorescent and... yeah, you get the picture. Surely, he could do it. He certainly needed the practice if he ever wanted to match what Jim did to him last night. Last night, when he slammed McCoy against the wall and went down, down, down...

Interpreting his hesitation as a hygiene concern, Chekov spat out the length he was busy fellating and offered reassurance. “Nothing to fear, doctor, they’re all fresh and new.” Returning to the present, McCoy grunted, “Good, good”, before he realized that something about Chekov’s statement was terribly, terribly wrong.

_Fresh and new_.

New. They were all new. And there were, what, some odd fifteen of them? McCoy’s thoughts raced as he considered what that meant. They hadn’t been to a starbase in over two months, so where the hell could they have gotten them? It wasn’t like one could make a wish and have a bunch of sex toys magically appear in the middle of the deep space... The thought was never quite finished, as something dark and ugly rose to the surface of his mind. There was one person able to get anything from the replicator. _Anything_. The ship-wide known replicator whisperer.

“Where did you get them?”

Sulu and Chekov exchanged a quick look, neither offering an answer.

Willing himself to be calm, McCoy choked out a strained “Oh my God, please tell me you did not. Please tell me you didn’t go to Spock to ask him to replicate these for you.” Sulu and Chekov seemed suddenly engrossed in the texture of the table and their fingernails, respectively. “Please tell me you did not...” McCoy waved his hand hopelessly. “Does he know? Does Spock know what these are for? You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“No, we did not,” Sulu hastened, “we most certainly did not. We just provided him with specifications.”

“No,” Chekov confirmed. “He guessed it himself.”

***

The explanations that followed were logical, sensible and perfectly sincere, he was sure, but did nothing to lessen the burn of what almost certainly was the biggest embarrassment in his life. Suddenly McCoy saw Spock wishing him a _fulfilling and productive afternoon_ in an entirely different, and horrifying, light.

Damn it. Damn it all to hell!

“You see, doctor, we didn’t know the captain’s size.” Sulu looked positively guilt-stricken. “There are theories among the crew, of course, but none of it confirmed – we simply have no hard data, I’m afraid, and we felt compelled to cover all possibilities.” With that he gestured towards the dildos.

McCoy’s eyes were drawn to the largest one, a blue thing of quite frankly terrifying proportions, and he couldn’t help asking, “And you thought _that_ might be his actual size?”

Chekov flushed, looking at the blue length with unrestrained adoration. “I’ve heard someone compare him to an Andorian. It’s...it’s possible, is it not, doctor?” And yes, it was possible, but McCoy hoped to God that was not the case, because choking on dick was not his preferred way to die. No matter whose.

Finally making up his mind, McCoy reached out to grab the first dildo within his reach – which turned out to be fluorescent, and that was just _wrong_ – before settling on a flesh-coloured one of a flattering size. It looked normal, and normal seemed an almost unattainable luxury right now.

 “Chekov, would you, that is, would you mind telling me how you did that thing before, with your...” This was insufferable, and he was acting like a shy virgin. McCoy cleared his throat and started again.

“Chekov, could you please show me how to swallow that damned thing without gagging to death?”

Chekov radiated earnest helpfulness.

“Yes, doctor! First you need to make sure your throat is wet, yes? Ok, and then you take it in, starting slow, like that, not too much at first, then a little more, and breathe, breathe.” He looked happy, the sort of happy he only ever looked when explaining a particularly complex equation. “Do not worry, doctor, I’ll talk you through it.”

McCoy’s last thought before he bent down to suck the fleshy silicone into his mouth was _James Tiberius Kirk, your dick had better be worth it_.

***

It was.


End file.
